


Waiting

by cordite



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Ship all the ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-03
Updated: 2009-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordite/pseuds/cordite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all wait in their own ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion to my story [Valiant](http://jubilee-pizza.livejournal.com/735.html) but can certainly be read as a stand alone. Comments always welcome. Enjoy!

**Title:** Waiting  
 **Author:** [](http://jubilee-pizza.livejournal.com/profile)[**jubilee_pizza**](http://jubilee-pizza.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** PG for some angst  
 **Parings/Characters:** Gwen, Tosh, Jack/Ianto, mild Owen/Ianto, mentions of Owen/Diane and Ianto/Lisa  
 **Summary:** They all wait in their own ways.  
 **Spoilers:** Torchwood S1  
 **Disclaimer:** Clearly, I don't own anything.  
 **Author's Note:** This is a companion to my story [Valiant](http://jubilee-pizza.livejournal.com/735.html) but can certainly be read as a stand alone. Comments always welcome. Enjoy!

 

_Sonnet 97, William Shakespeare_

_How like a winter hath my absence been  
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!  
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!  
What old December's bareness every where!  
And yet this time removed was summer's time,  
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,  
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,  
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:  
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me  
But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;  
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,  
And, thou away, the very birds are mute;  
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer  
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near._

 

_How like a winter hath my absence been  
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!  
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!  
What old December’s bareness every where!_

All of them felt the loss.

No sooner had Jack come back, when he had left them again, this time of his own volition. They had all moved on, but not really. Gwen was doing her best at playing the strong leader, but when it came down to it, they all knew she would save one of them before she saved the world. She would only ever be a small time hero. None of them were sure if that was a boon or a burden. Ianto saw the way she almost imperceptibly jumped every time one of them called her name. He wished he could help her, but there was nothing he could do.

Two weeks went by before Ianto decided it was time for him to properly learn how to fire a gun.

_And yet this time removed was summer’s time,  
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,  
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,  
Like widow’d wombs after their lords’ decease:_

Every night was the same. They’d go out—all of them—and hunt Weevils, then get stone drunk. Gwen would go home to Rhys, and Owen would go home with strangers. Tosh in the mean time would alternate between staring at nothing in particular, her eyes hard and cold, and scribbling furiously on her cocktail napkin. Ianto would ask her through an only half interested alcoholic haze what she was writing.

“Oh, nothing,” she’d answer. “It’s nothing important, just practicing equations,” or, “It’s just the code to the security system I was trying to crack earlier,” or, “Rift predictions, that’s all.”

Ianto supposed that the numbers, like spindly hieroglyphics, kept her grounded, her way of coping. Those codes were always old, the predictions were often useless, and if Tosh needed to practice equations, then Ianto needed to practice breathing. But it was always in these moments that Ianto could really see how much the last year had taken out of her. He forgot his own pain and saw the exquisite beauty of hers.

And every morning, when they were the only ones in the Hub, they’d confide in each other.

_Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me  
But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;  
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,  
And, thou away, the very birds are mute;_

Ianto wasn’t sure whether it happened out of pity or lust or loneliness.

Feeding Myfanwy and the weevils was always a weirdly therapeutic task. It was so mechanical that he could simply close down the walls of his thoughts and lose himself in the procedure. He would sleepwalk his way up to Myfanwy’s perch laying out a fresh leg of lamb, a bar of fine dark chocolate, and a new pail of water. Then he’d make his way down to the cells to give Janet her tray of—food wasn’t really the word for it. He never had to speak and he never had to think and he was grateful for that daily respite.

He knew Owen like to sit with Janet, but they’d always been fortunate enough to miss each other. It came as a surprise then when he found Owen one day silently crying in front of Janet’s cell. He felt indecent for watching. The door clicked behind Ianto, and Owen’s head jerked around.

“What?” Owen snapped. “Thought you’d come have a laugh?”

“No,” Ianto said. “I didn’t know you’d—”

Owen had flown at him, knocking the tray from Ianto’s hands and pinning him to the wall. The small ones were always scrappy.

“Do you think you’re the only one who misses someone?” said Owen, his tone lethal. “At least my someone loved me back!”

“Shut up!” Ianto tried to fight, but Owen had him held fast. “You shut up about Lisa!”

“And how do you know it’s her I’m talking about?”

Ianto stopped struggling. He wanted to feel numb, rage, anything besides the slow trickle of fear he had been so careful in avoiding since Jack had left. Owen leaned in so close that Ianto could see every fleck and swirl in his iris.

“It hurts. Doesn’t it.”

And their lips had met.

_Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer_  
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

The fear persisted until Jack came back. Then Ianto knew the truth more certainly than he knew his own name.

End.


End file.
